


Tired of Screwing Up

by Reaping



Series: Writoween 2015 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Needs Therapy, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek POV, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Misunderstandings, References to Cheating, Self-Esteem Issues, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, no actual cheating happens, some of these autofill tags are fucking great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writoween Day 5 Prompt: Skeleton in the Closet</p><p>“Don’t try to play stupid with me Stiles, it says it on the damned page. ‘Life is short. Have an affair.’”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to M for helping me narrow down some options for this and being an amazing cheerleader who encourages me to write and finish things.
> 
> Un-beta'd. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> If you feel this needs additional tags, please don't hesitate to comment and let me know!

He heard the Jeep’s door slam followed immediately by Stiles grumbling to himself about rude customers and crazy bosses. It’s been the same thing every night for the last month and a half. Stiles goes to classes, goes to work, comes home bitching, does homework until he’s falling asleep on his books, and gets carted to bed by Derek. On the weekends he works full days followed by long nights of more homework. Derek’s starting to feel like he’s not even in a relationship anymore. And he knows that things will get better but he’s starting to wonder if they can last that long. The door slamming drags him out of his thoughts.

“Honey, I’m home from hell.” He hears the mutter, can hear as Stiles dumps his keys on the table by the door, the thud of his backpack on the living room floor, the softer thud of Stiles’ ass as it follows and he beings to spread out on the coffee table.

“Stiles, I don't understand why you keep working there if you hate it so much. I have money, you don't have to work there. ” Derek leans against the arch that separates the living room from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dishtowel. He’d just finished putting a pasta bake in the oven, something Stiles can easily eat while most of his attention is focused on his work.

“I am a strong, independent woman Derek and I don't need no man to pay for me!” The snark is expected of course, he wouldn’t be Stiles without it.

“Firstly, you are not a woman Stiles.” He barrels on as Stiles makes a scoffing noise in his throat. “Secondly, no more Beyoncé for you.”

“Don't even front, you love Queen Bey just as much as I do. And that isn't the point Derek. I hate the job, but I need the money. ”

“For what?” He can barely contain the exasperation in his voice, they’ve had this discussion before and he keeps waiting for an actual answer.

“I just do.” Stiles turns at that, eyes narrowing because he too remembers this argument and he doesn’t want to have it.

“Stiles.” Derek can feel his jaw tensing, knows he’s probably glaring.

“Derek.” There’s annoyance in his tone, an edge that’s asking for Derek to let it go tonight.

“You're being fucking ridiculous,” he snaps. He can tell it’s exactly the wrong thing to say as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“You know what Derek, you're right, I'm being ridiculous. I'm being so ridiculous, in fact, that I'm going to take my ridiculous ass to Scott's for the night. ” He snatches his keys and is out the door before Derek can even think of a way to make him stay. It's the third time in two weeks that Stiles has up and left in the middle of an argument. He’s getting tired of it. He sighs and moves back into the kitchen, turning the oven down to a lower temperature to keep the bake warm for longer. Stiles will be back, he always comes back after he cools off. And he needs to eat, no matter how mad they might be at one another, Derek will make sure he takes care of himself as much as he can.

Only Stiles doesn’t come back. Derek sits on the couch for four hours, worry increasing with each minute that ticks by. He tries calling but Stiles’ phone vibrates from his backpack still on the floor at Derek’s feet. He eventually gets up, turns off the oven, throws out the pasta. His appetite is gone.

“Scott, is Stiles there?” He gave in, he called, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Uh…Stiles…is…” Scott’s voice trails off and Derek can hear Stiles in the background.

 _“Don’t you dare hand me that phone Scotty. I do not want to talk to him.”_ He can hear Scott pull the phone away from his mouth, place a hand over it, as if that would stop his enhanced ears from picking up the responses. It appears Scott has the same idea. “Stiles, he’s a werewolf, he can hear you even if I don’t hand over the phone.”

 _“I don’t care. Then he can hear that I am not interested in anything he has to say tonight.”_ He can practically hear the whine of indecision coming from Scott so he decides to save him from being more in the middle than he already is.

“Scott, its fine, I just wanted to make sure he was safe.”

“I’m sorry Derek.” The call goes dead and Derek rubs a hand over his face, relief making his shoulders slump. Stiles was okay. Pissed off, not coming home, but okay. He tried to tell himself that was all that mattered, but everything was piling up too much. Something was going on. Stiles had been evasive, not just about the money (although that was by far the biggest thing he wouldn’t expand on), but about a lot of things. About the time he spent away from Derek that wasn’t work and school. He wasn’t with his friends, Derek knew because they were his friends too. He had a few hours on Wednesdays between classes and work and he never came home, dodged the question whenever Derek asked why. If he didn’t know better he’d think Stiles was cheating, but he’d smell someone else on him, and he hadn’t. Before he knows what he’s even doing, Stiles’ backpack is in his hands, flipped upside-down. Books crash down to the carpet, notes and magazine pages spilling out of binders all over the floor, pencils and pens flying everywhere. He can’t stop himself; he digs through it all, looking for some hint as to what Stiles is hiding from him. He isn’t being rational, he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. He loves Stiles more than he’s ever loved anyone and he’s being lied to. One of the magazine pages catches his eye – it’s not an article like the others, it’s some sort of ad, creased from being folded in half. It’s Super Bowl themed, so it must be from last month, some woman in a too tiny ref uniform flipping a coin. His heart sinks as he reads the words.

**_“Do you prefer HEAD or TAIL?_ **

**_AshleyMadison.com_ **

**_Life is Short. Have an Affair”_ **

His stomach churns, the ad crushing in his hand. He was wrong, Stiles is cheating. Or at least thinking about it. He can feel his breath coming in sharp pants, can feel a cracking in his chest. He unclenches his fist and drops the ad onto the couch, looks at the mess he made. He methodically works at cleaning it up, stuffing the notes back into their binders, replacing everything in the backpack except the ad. He glances at it again, grabs a sticky note off the pile Stiles had set up when he first got home and writes two words on it, sticking it to the ad and setting it on top of the books that are still spread out on the coffee table, and then he goes to bed.

He hears the snick of the front door closing at six in the morning. Tracks Stiles’ heart as he moves through the small house, hears the uptick when he reaches the living room. He’s sitting up in bed ( _their bed_ his mind unhelpfully supplies), when Stiles comes stomping in, the ad with the note in his hand.

“What the fuck is this Derek?” He can see his own handwriting, the words he’d left for Stiles bold against the pale paper – “I Know” was all he’d written.

“You tell me Stiles.” He can feel his face sneering, can’t help it, has always used anger to cover up his pain. “It was in your things.”

“You went through my stuff?” He can’t believe Stiles has the audacity to act like he’s the injured party here, not while he’s still got the damned ad for the cheating website in his hands. He says as much. “The cheating what? Derek what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t try to play stupid with me Stiles, it says it on the damned page. ‘Life is short. Have an affair.’” He watches as Stiles looks at what he’s holding, beyond the sticky note that had sent him fuming into the room. Watches his brows knit in confusion before flying up towards his hairline in shock.

“You think that I would ever do that to you? Do you not trust me at all?” Derek registers the hurt in Stiles’ voice, but he’s hurt too damn it.

“I did right up until you started lying to me Stiles. You work at a job you hate and won’t tell me why you need the money, and then you lie about where you are and think that I can’t hear it? That I don’t know that you’re sitting there evading the question? And then I find that? What am I supposed to think Stiles?”

“Well first off, you could use your damn nose and know I’m not cheating Derek. Secondly, I cannot fucking believe you went through my things. That is so beyond not okay. And thirdly, this page has two fucking sides, did you even look at the back?” He watched as Stiles’ face morphed from hurt at the accusations he’d just made into anger. Opened his mouth to answer but was cut off. “No, of course you didn’t. Why would you trust the man you keep saying you love after all? You just assumed that not only was I shitty enough to lie to you, but that I’d be dumb enough to keep evidence around. I hope you’re fucking happy now, Derek.” Stiles shoves the flipped over ad at him, hands shaking a little. Derek can see the moisture gathering in Stiles’ eyes and glances away from it, not willing to let it sway him from his own anger. Unfortunately what he sees when he glances down sends that flying away, replaces it with massive amounts of guilt.

**_Valentine’s Day Specials_ **

**_Show that special someone just how much you love them. Custom Engagement Rings up to 50% off*_ **

**_Hillfront Jewelers_ **

**_*must be ordered by Valentine’s Day. All rings still eligible for layaway plans._ **

“Stiles…” he swallows hard around the sudden lump in his throat. He looks up but Stiles is turning away already. He reaches out, fingertips brushing against Stiles’ wrist before the man yanks his arm away.

“No Derek, just…no. You didn’t trust me, you thought I would do that to you, to us? I was going to ask you to marry me and now… I can’t be here right now.” He can hear the break in Stiles’ voice and knows that he can’t do anything to make it better. He sat, numb, while Stiles packed himself a bag, not even glancing his way, just shoving in clothes as fast as possible. He left the room without another word and Derek could hear him moving through the house, retrieving things from the bathroom before packing up the rest of his backpack. Could hear the lock catch as the door closed behind him, the rumble as the Jeep started up and drove away. When the last sounds of it faded, he buried his face in his hands and cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, that Ashley Madison ad I referenced in this is a [real ad](http://http://www.adweek.com/files/imagecache/node-blog/blogs/ashley-madison.jpg). Ick right?
> 
> Secondly, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://http://jennthereaper.tumblr.com) if you are so inclined.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What you did was pretty shitty Derek, even for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if you feel I missed any tags, let me know!

Scott comes by three days later to get more clothes for Stiles. He apologizes the whole time but Derek waves him off. He knows this is his fault. He hasn’t spoken to Stiles since that night, gets no answer to his calls and texts. He can’t really blame him. More than going through his things, he didn’t trust him, this man who’s stood by him since before they could even stand to be near one another. Stiles has never doubted him in all the time they’ve been together, probably never would doubt him. Derek’s a mess. He hasn’t showered, and he’s pretty sure it’s obvious if the way Scott wrinkled his nose is any indication. He hasn’t moved from his blanket nest on the sofa since Scott walked in, just listened as the other man went through Stiles’ drawers and nearly cleaned them out. He pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders, afraid that if Scott saw the red peeking out he’d make him give up the dirty hoodie he’d spent the last three days in too. Scott stopped next to the sofa, discomfort wafting off of him as he stood over Derek.

“You can’t have it. You can’t take everything.” He was ashamed of how his voice broke on the words, eyes flaring blue as he looked up at Scott.

“Dude, what? What are you even – oh.” Scott’s eyes widened as he saw the flash of red when Derek turned his head away again. “That is just sad man. Look, I know you’re hurting but so’s he. What you did was pretty shitty Derek, even for you.” He bristled at the words but didn’t deny them. He knew how he was. “And I’m not taking everything. I’m taking enough for a few more days. You can check the drawers if you need to. I’m not saying this is going to blow over – because it really won’t – but it’s maybe not as hopeless as you think it is. You need to do something other than wallow in your own stench on the couch though. That is definitely not going to help you fix this.” He looked up at Scott, shock on his face. Stiles was Scott’s brother, there was no way he should be willing to help Derek at all. Not after what he did, how he made Stiles feel. Really he’s kinda surprised Scott didn’t punch him in the face when he walked in.

“Oh dude, I was gonna, then I saw you and it was just too sad man. And yeah, you said that whole last bit out loud. Stiles must’ve rubbed off on you.”

“I don’t know how to fix it Scott.” He could hear the defeat in his own voice, watched Scott grimace in sympathy.

“Look man, I can’t tell you how to fix it, it’s your relationship. But if you don’t get off that couch, you’re going to run out of time. I don’t want to have to come back and get the rest of his stuff Derek. You love him, he loves you, until this you made each other pretty happy. So figure it out.” Seems that was the last of the advice Scott had for him, because he spun on his heel and was gone before Derek could string together a thank you. He looked around at the house, all the missing pieces that were Stiles. He had to fix it. He glanced down at himself, the hoodie he’d commandeered spotted with bits of spilled food and one mild whiff confirmed that he not only smelled like two day old milk but also sweat and sadness. He definitely needed a shower.

 

**

 

Derek spends the rest of the night cleaning the house. If – no when damn it – when Stiles comes home, he doesn’t want the state of the house to be a reminder of what happened. When he’s done, he drops onto the couch, worried about what to do next. He knows how important trust is, knows that he broke theirs, and worse made Stiles feel like he didn’t trust him. He’s not sure how to fix that. He glances at the clock on the wall and decides it’s still early enough, grabs his keys and heads out.

“Derek.” The sheriff’s face is carefully neutral, which Derek is pretty sure means that Stiles has told him what happened. They’d gotten pretty friendly over the years, especially since he and Stiles started dating.

“Sir, can I come in?” He watches John’s eyes tighten a bit at the corners before the older man sighs and steps out of the doorway. Derek heads straight for the living room and sits on the edge of the couch closest to the chair he knows John favors.

“I really don’t want to be in the middle of this. I like you Derek, I do, but Stiles is my son.”

“I fucked up.” He watches as John’s eyebrows lift, almost saying ‘tell me something I don’t know’ and continues on. “I just, he was being so secretive.”

“Kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that he’d be cheating on you. You know my son just as well as I do, Stiles is loyal to the point of idiocy.”

“I know. I – it’s not him, I just…” He trails off, not sure how to finish his sentence. He knows what he should say, _I have trust issues the size of Alaska_ , _or why wouldn’t he cheat on me_ , or the main reason, _I don’t deserve him and I never did and I’ve been waiting this whole time for him to figure it out and leave_. When he looks back at the sheriff, the man is staring at him knowingly, like he can read the thoughts Derek can’t bring himself to speak aloud, sadness sifting through his pale eyes.

“Derek, you need to tell him. That kid loves you more than anything else in this world, but whatever you’ve been holding back, whatever reason you have for not believing in him…you need to talk to him about it. The life he wanted to build with you, neither of you can have that if you can’t be honest with him.” He feels John’s hand gently squeeze his shoulder, didn’t even realize the man had shifted forward before it was done and the hand was lifting away. “Talk to him son, I can’t do that for you.”

Derek cleared his throat against the sudden tightness at the gesture and the words. His stomach was still in knots, had been since Stiles showed him the ad he’d been saving, but he felt a little of the tension leave him knowing that the sheriff at least didn’t hate him. He nodded his thanks, stood, and shook the man’s hand before leaving. He slid into the Camaro and started the engine, eyes flicking to the time on the dash. Too late to go try and see Stiles tonight, he had class then work tomorrow and it wouldn’t be right or fair to expect him to talk tonight. He pointed the car towards home, plans for tomorrow swirling around in his head.

He got up the next morning and sat down to write a list, all of the things he needed to talk to Stiles about, the honesty he needed to give the man he loved. At the top of the list was to tell Stiles that he did trust him, despite his actions showing otherwise, and to tell him that he planned to do something about his issues. Before he could do that though, he needed to actually have a plan for dealing with them. He called Deaton, asked for a number for a therapist in the know about the supernatural, someone he wouldn’t have to lie to. He couldn’t fix his issues himself. He could try, but he’d been trying, and clearly he wasn’t making as much progress as he’d thought. He called the number the vet recommended, set up an appointment for the next week. When all that was done it was nearly time for Stiles to have moved from school to his job. He checked the time, waited until Stiles should have been at work, and called to make sure.

“DTO Tech Support, how may I direct your call?” The voice on the end of the line was chipper and louder than expected, Derek held the earpiece on the phone slightly away from his head as he responded.

“Hi, I was wondering if Szczesny was in today?” He knew Stiles didn’t go by his first name in most places, but his job required it. It was one of the many things he openly bitched about. He planned to have flowers delivered with a letter asking Stiles to please accept his phone call tonight so they could talk but wanted to make sure Stiles was actually in the office first.

“I’m sorry, but Sez..Sez…Mr. Stilinski no longer works here.” The receptionist stumbled over the name before giving up, her chipper tone fading slightly.

“What? When did that happen? Why?”

“He quit a few days ago, said he didn’t need the job anymore and wrapped up the few clients he still had appointments with before leaving.” Derek’s heart sank. Stiles didn’t need the job, didn’t need the money from the job, anymore. He had an idea why that was and he didn’t like it.

“Oh, um thanks.” He hung up, swallowing against a lump in his throat, before deciding that didn’t necessarily mean he had no hope. He could still carry out his plan, he’d just have to do it a little more in person than he thought. He texted Scott, got the response he was hoping for, and set off for the floral shop before they closed.

He was lucky, arriving with a half hour to spare. Luckier still that they had what he wanted. He’d ordered them occasionally from the shop, thought maybe they stocked solely for him (since the very first time he asked for them the shop didn’t have any). He bought them out, a large bouquet of Corn Poppies…they’d been Claudia’s favorite and Stiles always smiled when he saw them. When he pulled up in front of Scott’s place, the alpha was just walking out the front door.

“He’s in there, don’t fuck it up again.” He nodded and watched as Scott hopped on his bike and took off down the road, probably to spend some time with Kira so Stiles and Derek could talk. He took a breath and opened the door that had been left unlocked for him, following his nose to find Stiles curled up in the guest room, back to the door.

“Stiles…” his voice came out soft, too low for a human. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Stiles.” Louder, better. He knew he’d been heard. Watched as Stiles’ body stiffened before he rolled over quickly, feet planting on the floor as he stood.

“Derek.” There was no mistaking the flashes of anger and hurt that bounced through Stiles’ eyes. “What are you doing here?” His voice was low, cold. It made Derek flinch but he knew he deserved that tone. He stepped forward, now or never.

“Stiles I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry you don’t even know. I made a huge mistake.” He held out the flowers, watched as Stiles’ eyebrows arched and his arms stayed crossed over his chest, refusing to take them. Derek glanced around, set them on the dresser just to the left of the doorway. “Please, please will you talk to me.”

“Like you talked to me?”

“Stiles please. I love you.” His voice broke. He wasn’t sure he could take it if Stiles wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let him try to explain. He stood there, heart breaking, watching Stiles chew on his bottom lip, body nearly vibrating with the need to move. Finally Stiles looked back at him and Derek could see the pain filling his eyes, the liquid amber of them darkened by moisture and the bags clearly in evidence on his face. Seems Derek wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been sleeping.

“Why?” It was a bare whisper, the hurt Stiles felt laced throughout the word. He watched as Stiles half fell backwards until he was slumped on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He could smell the bitter tang of salty tears, his heart throbbing in tandem with Stiles’. He moved closer, sat on the corner of the bed, close but not so much that Stiles would feel trapped.

“I didn’t understand why you were with me. I know what I look like, but I’m…” He trailed off, head shaking, trying to remember the words he wanted to say. The words he owed to Stiles. He steeled his resolve and tried again. “Ever since my family, since Kate, I haven’t felt like I deserved happiness. Stiles you make me so fucking happy and I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you. I’ve been waiting for the day you’d wake up and realize that I wasn’t worth your time, that I was nothing, that you could do better. I know you. _I know you_. I know you would never cheat. You wouldn’t lie to me without reason. I know I fucked it up, I know you probably don’t want to marry me anymore, probably don’t want anything to do with me at all, but I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. And I’m going to get help. I talked to Deaton, I found a therapist. I start next week. I know it doesn’t fix us, but I’m going to try Stiles, I’m going to try and get better.” Stiles didn’t interrupt him. It might be the longest he’d ever gone without Stiles interrupting him. He waited.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, Derek. You…get help. If it’s for you, great, get help. I don’t know what else you want me to say right now. I’m not going to tell you we’ll be alright; I can’t tell you we can fix it.”

“Okay.” He stood, brushed his fingers gently over Stiles hair and left Scott’s apartment. He felt a little numb, but Stiles was right. Saying he was going to get help didn’t magically fix anything. Maybe time would help, maybe it wouldn’t. He wasn’t lying though, he was going to try and get better – to be someone who could accept being happy. He didn’t hear from Stiles for the rest of the week, the weekend came and went, and with it so did Scott, picking up more clothes for Stiles. He still didn’t take everything, it was the tiniest thread of hope, but Derek clung to it like a life raft in the rapids. He got up, worked out, spent time with other members of the pack, went to bed. Rinse, repeat. He woke up full of trepidation on Thursday of the following week. It was therapy day, and he was nervous. He wasn’t good, was terrible obviously, didn’t like to open up, but he was going to have to if he really wanted things to change for him. He stayed home, worked out, cleaned the house, showered. He drove the hour down to the city and arrived in just enough time to fill out what felt like a mountain of paperwork. When he passed it over, the receptionist offered him a pleasant smile before telling Derek that he’d call him up when the doctor was ready. He sat in one of the slightly uncomfortable waiting room chairs and flipped aimlessly through a magazine. It was almost a relief when the man – Brad his nametag read – finally called him over to tell him he could go in now. The office wasn’t really what he’d expected from TV, there was a sofa, but it was against a far wall. The doctor had a large desk in the center of the room, one chair behind it and two in front, and was waiting in one of the front chairs for Derek to enter. He offered his hand and introduced himself.

“Hi Derek, I’m Dr. Rupert, please make yourself comfortable and we can discuss why you’re here and what you hope to get out of our meetings.” The man’s voice was pleasant, tone soothing without being patronizing or condescending. The corner of his mouth tilted up as he shook the doctor’s hand before he sat in the chair opposite and began talking.

 

**

 

He felt lighter on the drive back. One session wasn’t going to solve everything, but being able to talk to someone with an outside perspective helped. He loved Stiles and the pack, but they’d been in the trenches of so much together that they couldn’t really be objective. Or at least, it felt that way. Maybe it was just him who couldn’t be objective. Regardless, it felt good to talk about the things that had happened, the things they’d all done. He liked the therapist, had agreed to start seeing him once a week – if they needed more sessions they’d up the number but for now it seemed like a good place to start. He was lost in going over the things they’d discussed when he parked the car. Almost didn’t realize the Jeep was sitting in its old spot in the driveway. His heart started beating faster at the sight, worry creeping in at what it might mean. He forced himself to get out of the car calmly, lock it, walk up the steps, open the front door. He could see Stiles sitting on the couch, fiddling with something in his hands, clearly waiting for Derek to get home. He cleared his throat so he didn’t startle him, but it was to no avail. He watched as whatever Stiles had been playing with went flying in the air, his hands flailing around trying to catch it. It was a box, Derek saw this as it rolled to a stop at his feet. He picked it up, curiosity peeked, but crossed the distance to the sofa and handed it back. He’d learned better than to snoop.

“Thanks. Hi.” There was a wariness to Stiles’ voice and Derek tried not to read into it. “Sorry I let myself in –”

“Stop. It’s still your house unless you don’t want it to be. You don’t have to apologize for coming in.”

“Right. Um.” Stiles cleared his throat. “Where were you?”

“Therapy. I mentioned it when I came to Scott’s last week.”

“Right. Right. So you went? Did you – um, did you like it?”

“Honestly? Yeah. I think it’s going to help.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

He could feel the awkward tension surrounding them, this strain that didn’t used to be there. “Did…was there a reason you came here?” He didn’t want to ask it, afraid of the answer, but he needed to know where they stood.

“Oh, uh, yeah actually. See, the thing is that I really hated that job. Like a lot. But I took it so I could buy the ring. And then everything kinda fell apart. But, I had already paid the ring mostly off?”

Derek cleared his throat, eyes flicking back to the box Stiles was once again twirling in circles in his hands. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And the guy I bought it for, he’s a world-class jackass. Like, totally doesn’t deserve for me to forgive him because he accused me of cheating and that’s pretty shitty right?”

“Yeah, definitely a pretty shitty thing to do.” He could hear the tone shift when Stiles talked, thought he might know where this was headed, thought maybe he didn’t have to worry quite as much as he thought he did.

“Yeah, so it was pretty shitty, what he did. And he’s a jackass.”

“Yeah, so you said already.”

“Except. Except I really fucking love him. And I am pretty sure he really loves me, even if he fucks up sometimes. I mean, I’m probably going to fuck up sometimes, right? I mean, I'm not exactly blameless here either. I should've...I dunno, should've told him something that didn't make him worry so much to begin with. It's pretty hard to keep secrets from werewolves, and maybe I didn't go about it the right way, because all that did was lead to fighting. So maybe we both need to forgive each other, right?”

“Right…”

“So I thought that maybe, just maybe, if this guy was actually doing what he said he was going to do, maybe then I should try to forgive him. And maybe he can forgive me too. Because I really miss him. And I really love him. And I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life without him.”

“He um, he probably really misses you and loves you and doesn’t want to spend another day without you.” Derek could feel the tightness in his chest loosening, feel a slight sting behind his eyes as Stiles turned to face him, box settled neatly in his palm while the other hand began to lift the lid.

“You’re not perfect. But I’m not perfect either. You fucked up, but so did I. You'll probably fuck up again, ut sometimes I’m going to fuck up too. I love you, I love more than I have ever loved anyone, and I still want to marry you, even after this. Do you want to marry me?”

Derek couldn’t speak for a minute, the sting behind his eyes gave way to tears, a mix of happiness and relief that Stiles still loved him, still wanted him. He finally managed to choke out a yes, which earned him a lapful of Stiles, hands fumbling to pull the ring out of the box and show it to him. It was titanium, a double band that looked an awful lot like Scott’s tattoo, his pack symbol. Stiles tilted the ring so Derek could see the inside, see the interconnected triskelions that wove around the interior, the engraving that said simply “forever”. He looked up to see Stiles smiling softly at him.

“Please come home Stiles.” He watched the smile grow on Stiles’ face at his request, leaned his head forward and caught Stiles’ lips with his own, the kiss gentle. They broke apart after a moment, the smile returning again to Stiles’ face.

“Okay.” And he knew that they would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come flail about Sterek with me on [Tumblr](http//jennthereaper.tumblr.com)
> 
> Side note - I won't be continuing this but this is basically what happens after:
> 
> "My general idea on where they go from here is that Derek continues his sessions and gets to a better place, Stiles sometimes goes with him (and also sometimes alone once he sees how much it helps Derek) and they both work on their issues together. They still argue but they get better at not fighting and instead talk things out. The wedding is easy peasy because they're in a better place when they get married."


End file.
